


you are my solid ground

by leothelioness333



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Trio Dynamic, Whump, and also more of steve and nat pining, there really isn't a deeper plot to this i just wanted to write more of this trio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leothelioness333/pseuds/leothelioness333
Summary: “I’m pretty sure we’ve been in worse scrapes than this.” or the one where Natasha and Sam share a lot of knowing looks over Steve's nonsense.Set between Civil War and Infinity War
Relationships: Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 15
Kudos: 136





	you are my solid ground

**Author's Note:**

> Fic writing has basically turned into me asking myself, constantly, "why am I like this?". 
> 
> So, uh, just realized it's been almost a year since I've posted anything. I have been trying to work on my two major WIPs, especially with this quarantine going on, but instead my brain decided that it wanted to write something new (of course). Then this happened. Inspired by a D&D session where me and the other members of my party got beat up a lot, I decided that I really just wanted to see this beautiful trio get a little bloodied and then patch each other up. Aside from that, there's really no other plot lol. 
> 
> I meant for this to only be 2-3k...and then I just kept writing. So, after asking myself, 'why am i like this?', you now all get 9k of these 3 being idiots!
> 
> This is set in between CW and IW, and it is set in the universe of my fic: revelations (come to us in recovery). Aside from a few little tidbits that are dropped, you do not need to read that fic to understand this one. (However, I may be doing a few more one-shots like this set in that 'verse, so reading that fic is beneficial! Not sure when these other one-shots will come, but I have plans).
> 
> Title inspired by the song "Bayou" by Mountains of the Moon.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Mid-February, 2017_

“I’m pretty sure we’ve been in worse scrapes than this.”

Natasha, seated on Steve’s right, nearly scoffed at the statement. She leaned around Steve to look at Sam on his left. Sam shared her knowing look and gave a little shake of his head, fond smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, leaning her throbbing head back against the large concrete pillar they were currently taking shelter behind. She sucked in a breath, the sharp pain in her side making her momentarily forget about the blow to her head, and the gash in her hairline that was leaking blood down the side of her face. She had a suspicion her ribs were broken. “This is pretty bad, Rogers.”

She inhaled slowly again—and the acuteness of the pain made her a little dizzy. _Fuck_. Yeah, she had at least one badly bruised rib. Possibly fractured. Hopefully not fully broken.

They were currently in Dubrovnik, after tracking a mercenary group that had been making their way up and down the eastern Italian coast, and now the far coast of the Adriatic. The merc group had been selling and buying unique weapons, often alien in origin, most likely plundered after the fall of SHIELD. Their most recent acquisition was a couple of Ultron bots left over from the Battle of Sokovia. The mercenaries had reprogrammed the bots in their favor and, as it turned out, while the three of them had been hunting the mercs, the mercs had also been hunting them.

No doubt because of the price that General Ross had on all their heads.

Given the paint jobs given to the three bots, the mercs clearly had a sense of humor about it too. The first had a white ‘A’ on its half-melted head and shield on its chest; the second had a pair of wings painted across it’s torso and red circles around the eyes; the third one was painted with a crude female face and red curls of hair.

Natasha was personally offended by the poor paint job on the Black Widow bot, especially when the red hourglass she donned on her belt was clearly the easier and more signifying option.

“That mission in Belarus a couple years ago, one of Wanda’s first missions, that one was pretty bad,” Steve pointed out.

Natasha gave him a look and pointed at her side. “There were no broken bones in Belarus.”

“What about Hong Kong this past December. That was—well. Pretty fucking bad.”

Sam gave Natasha a look, and then said knowingly, “ _Bad_ doesn’t really cover Hong Kong. We thought you were for sure dead in a ditch, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. However, despite that shitshow, I didn’t get shot there.”

Sure enough, Sam was sporting a pretty deep graze on his right arm, a shallower graze on his left flank, and a nasty cut across his cheek. The scrape was courtesy of the Captain America bot, she was pretty sure. The bullets were from one of the mercs when they’d returned fire at them.

Steve made a noncommittal noise. Then, “Hydra taking over SHIELD was actually the worst. You gotta give me that one at least.”

Natasha cast another sideways glance at Sam. He had his goggles resting on his forehead, brown eyes sympathetic as he shrugged one shoulder. She wondered briefly if he was thinking about the same thing she was—Steve, lying bleeding and broken on the damp sand of the Potomac, the wreckage of Helicarriers burning and smoking behind them.

Dashing those thoughts away, Natasha leaned more heavily against the pillar. “Fine, D.C. is pretty much at the top of the list. Probably New York and Sokovia too—”

“Don’t forget our little brawl in the airport last year,” Sam commented.

Natasha scowled. The three of them were at a point where they could talk much more openly about what had happened in Germany last April, but it didn’t mean she liked to. “Shut up, Wilson.”

“You’re the one who started bringing up the Avengers’ greatest hits.”

“Guys,” Steve interrupted.

There was a distant clang of metal in the abandoned warehouse they were in. They had tracked the mercs—and their bots—to one of the smaller ports. The smell of brine and the cry of gulls permeated the air, the setting sun casting strange shadows in through the long wall of windows to their right.

“I thought you guys destroyed all murder bots in Sokovia,” Sam said, voice more hushed than before.

“We did.” Natasha’s hand drifted up to her side as her broken rib tweaked again, setting her teeth on edge. She took a deep breath through her nose. “Or at least we thought we did. Not all the bots were on the city when it blew. And we did clean up afterwards, but guys like these have ways of getting their hands on this shit.”

Sam sighed. “We’re definitely getting on the radar for this one.”

“We’ll deal with Ross or any of the fallout later,” Steve spoke up, a note of defiance in his tone that Natasha knew had to do with Ross. He’d been looking at the schematics of the warehouse on a mini data disc Shuri had given him, and he closed it now and tucked it into his belt. “First, let’s get out of this.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, Natasha saw Sam give Steve a pointed look. “You sound concerned,” Sam teased, “I thought we’d been in much worse situations than this.”

Steve grinned with red-stained teeth.

The Black Widow bot had pinned Natasha down earlier, slamming her hard into a concrete pillar similar to the one they were currently leaning against, resulting in her broken rib and the gash on her head. Steve had dived in after helping Sam with the Captain America bot, and had shoved the Widow bot away from her. But the thing had slammed into Steve just as hard, headbutting him in the face—breaking his nose.

The gush of blood had coated his beard, and the neck and front of his faded black tactical suit. The coppery tang of it still hung in the air.

Steve wiped a hand under the sluggish leak of blood still coming from his nose. “We _have_ been in worse situations than this.”

“As we’ve already demonstrated, that’s up for debate,” Sam pointed out.

“Which we can argue about later, boys,” Natasha reminded, gritting her teeth as she moved. “But Sam’s right. We’re definitely creating a mess, so let’s try to clean it up before the authorities get here.”

Sam started checking his weapons as there was another clang of the bots as they moved through the warehouse, no doubt the mercenaries following more silently behind.

“What’s the plan, Steve?” Sam asked, twisting his head around the edge of the pillar to look out into the warehouse. “We still got two bots left and maybe a dozen more mercs on our asses.”

Steve had taken care of the Cap bot earlier by literally tearing it in half with his superhuman strength. The bots were already wrecked or missing parts in some spots, having been salvaged from Sokovia. But still, it was a reminder of how much Steve was capable was doing with just his bare hands.

Right after he’d done that, the mercs had taken fire, injuring Sam, and causing the three of them to take cover much deeper into the warehouse.

Natasha’s side was burning, the pain sharper and more insistent the longer she sat there. She was exhausted—they all were—and she might have been content to just stay sitting against that pillar. But they had to move. Had to try and get the upper hand against two murder bots and a dozen mercs.

“Probably a standard tag team,” she said, sitting up straighter, trying to focus on a plan, not the pain. Wordlessly, Sam reached across Steve and handed her a small device from his belt.

It looked a little like a taser, but they used it to administer shots of mild pain killer instead. Something SHIELD had developed a couple years ago for field purposes like this. Natasha had forgotten it on the quinjet, Sam must’ve grabbed it, which she was currently grateful for. Steve tapped the back of his hand against her arm, a silent signal to let him help her. Natasha gritted her teeth as she twisted into a better position for Steve, lifting her arms up so he could administer the shots of painkiller directly around the area.

“There are at least ten of them, maybe twelve,” Steve continued from her earlier point, ever so gently pressing his fingers against her side to find the best spot to use the device “Most likely three to four on each flank,”

She gave a little nod. “The same number coming up the middle. Prob— _Fuck_ ,” Natasha gasped softly as Steve pressed the device into her side firmly enough to inject the medicine.

“Shit, sorry—” he said quickly.

She just gave a little shake of her head and carefully lowered her arms, ignoring the flash of concern in Steve’s eyes as she turned and settled against the pillar again. “They’re probably using at least one of the bots up the middle as a shield.”

“Our best bet is to draw their attention multiple directions,” Steve continued, now prodding at his broken nose.

“They’ll get confused, won’t be sure who to target first. And they won’t be able to come at us all at once,” she finished for him. “I’ll start on the right—our right. Take out the mercs on that side. There’s more cover, less chance they’ll see me coming.”

Sam, who had been tying a small bandage around the bullet wound on his arm, cut in. “I’ve got the wings. I’ll head up the middle, distract whichever bot is there, and hopefully draw the other one out at the same time. Steve, that gives you time to put down the three or four frontrunners.”

Steve bobbed his head, and Natasha heard a soft pop as he positioned something back into place in his nose.

“Gross,” Sam muttered.

Natasha fought back a laugh, knowing it would hurt her ribs despite them already feeling a little better thanks to the medicine.

“While you guys are doing that, I’ll head for the left flank, meet you over there once you’re done taking out those bots.” Natasha opened up a pouch on her belt and pulled out the last two taser discs she had, handing one to each of them. She’d have to see if Shuri would be willing to supply her some more soon, since they really did come in handy.

Like he knew she was out—because he probably _did_ know—Steve raised an eyebrow at her, lifting his taser disc between his fingers. “You sure?”

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted. “They’re great for human bad guys but might work better on those bots.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, tucking his into his belt.

Steve murmured the same appreciation and followed suit. They were silent for a moment, and she watched Steve cock his head to the side, listening. After a moment, “Mercs are closin’ in.”

Natasha couldn’t hear anything besides the occasional, possibly distant clank and soft whirring of the bots. But then again, she didn’t have Steve’s enhanced hearing. She traded what felt like her hundredth knowing look with Sam, who just gave a little laugh and shrugged. She and Sam were familiar enough with how the serum—with how _Steve_ worked—that this wasn’t new to them in the slightest.

“We good on the plan?” Steve asked.

“All good,” she and Sam said at the same time.

Natasha grinned and held out a closed fist. With smiles of their own, the boys tapped her fist with theirs.

This is what she loved—the three of them working together. It was so fluid, effortless. Finishing each other’s thoughts and strategies without any measure of doubt or uncertainty. She had that with Clint when they were partnered together at SHIELD, and after New York, she wasn’t sure she would feel that way ever again. Like she would ever have someone she trusted enough to call partner, let alone two someone’s.

Steve…Steve was her true partner, her co-leader, the other half of her. But Sam fit in with them so easily that she knew he was meant to be there. It was the three of them against the world. And she wouldn’t have it any other way. Despite their bloodied, beat-up state, it was times like this that she was so confident in their ability to win that she knew they would.

“Shall we?” she said, picking up her twin batons.

Steve and Sam gave her responding smiles, and the three of them rose to their feet and set out into the warehouse.

-:-

When they finally limped into a hostel after flying the quinjet over the Adriatic into southern Italy, the three of them were a little worse for wear, but they were victorious.

Steve had cleaned his face up quickly and as best he could so he could get them a room for the night. He wasn’t in the best shape—bloodied and bruised as he was—but he was currently faring a little better than Natasha and Sam.

They’d misjudged how many mercs were going which direction in the warehouse, so there had been two on each flank, with seven of them carrying up the middle behind the Black Widow bot. Sam had been able to draw in the Falcon bot, too, rendering it useless with the taser disc Nat had given him. Steve had gone after the center group of mercs while Natasha took care of the two flanking teams. 

Then the Widow bot had blasted a shot in Sam’s direction, grounding him temporarily. It was long enough that two of the mercs broke off and went after Sam, while Steve had tried to grab the attention of the remaining bot. It left his back exposed to the remaining three mercs he had yet to take care of, but Natasha found her way to them.

At the end of it, Sam ended up with a few more cuts and bruises, and a dislocated shoulder that Steve had popped back in place on the jet before they’d taken off. Nat still had her broken or fractured rib, that gash on her head, and now a bullet lodged in the meat of her left thigh.

For him, his broken nose had stopped bleeding, but was throbbing dully, and he could feel bruising starting to form under his eyes. He could feel the cuts on his hands even underneath the fingerless gloves he wore, from tearing apart the Cap bot, and then the Widow bot. He’d also grown quite adept at dodging bullets and other projectiles without his shield, but it was times like this that he missed having the weight of it in his hands. He would have a couple shallow bullet grazes on his right shoulder and arm if it weren’t for the Kevlar armoring his suit.

“Dibs on first shower,” Natasha said as they trudged into their private hostel room.

Steve had thrown a jacket over his tact suit and done what he could to clean up his face, but the hostel owner had still given him a strange look. He had just smiled and laughed in Italian about getting into a fight with the wrong guy at a bar.

The hostel owner seemed to understand that well enough, but Steve was still careful about sneaking Nat and Sam to their room.

“You always get first shower,” Sam muttered as he locked the door behind them. 

Steve had an arm wrapped carefully around Natasha as he helped her limp further into the room. Given their position, she gave an awkward shrug. “That’s because you guys are too slow calling dibs.”

“Rock, paper, scissors for it?” Sam asked as he set his duffle down at the foot of one of the two small beds in the room.

Steve watched Natasha’s face as she cocked an eyebrow at Sam. “You always lose rock, paper, scissors, too.”

“Try me. You still have a bullet to pull out of your leg, so I think it’s only fair that I get first shower.” Sam tilted his head, crooked grin on his face. “If you’re so confident you’ll win, this shouldn’t be a problem.”

Natasha shrugged again as Steve helped her sit in one of the two small chairs that also filled the space. “Okay. You’re on, Wilson. Best two out of three.”

Steve shucked off his jacket and started pulling off the top part of his uniform as Sam and Nat faced off, tapping closed fists against open palms.

They were tied one-one when Sam pulled a rock to Natasha’s scissors.

Steve nearly laughed at the expression on her face.

“So, I guess you don’t _always_ win,” Sam boasted triumphantly after the shock of his win settled in. “And that means _I_ get first shower.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m gonna remember this. And that is a threat.”

“Don’t pout, fair’s fair.”

The wide grin that spread across her face was practically wicked. “Oh, I don’t pout. I just get even.”

Steve chuckled quietly to himself as Sam leaned back from her a little. Steve had seen her use that same devious smile on marks before, and it worked every time to draw them in, right before she took them out.

Sam cleared his throat. “Okay, I’ll admit, you’re scaring me a little bit now.”

Natasha bared her teeth. “Good.”

To his credit, Sam kept his gaze level with hers for another ten seconds, then backed away to grab clean clothes from his duffle. Before shutting himself in the bathroom to take a shower, Sam stepped aside so Steve could wash his hands, take a couple clean towels, and dampen a washcloth to help Natasha get patched up.

As soon as the bathroom door shut and they heard the water turn on, Steve saw Natasha slump a little further into her chair. Steve grabbed the first aid supplies, towels, and dragged the other chair over so he could sit in front of her.

“You know,” he started, “Sam did win fair and square.”

Natasha rolled her eyes as he carefully lifted her left leg and put one of the dry towels underneath it. “Guess I’m a little off my rock, paper, scissors game. I blame the blood loss.”

Steve smiled softly. Then he pointed at the bullet wound in her leg. “I either gotta cut your whole pant leg to get at this thing, or we’re gonna have to cut enough so you can get the suit off.”

“I’m not cutting the whole leg. I only have one of these suits, I’d prefer not to ruin it entirely.”

He rummaged in their first aid kit for the scissors they kept. “Then it’s gotta come off.”

She tilted her head just so, mouth curving up playfully as she said, “If you wanted me to strip, Rogers, all you had to do was ask.”

Steve met her gaze evenly. “I’ll remember that next time.”

The slight flutter of her lashes was the only indication he had that his comment had some affect on her.

They were good at this—the back and forth, the push and pull to see how close they could toe the line before they started delving into something deeper.

Or, at least Steve assumed there was something more on the other side of all the flirting. There had to be, given the way he felt. The fullness in his chest when she was near, the way he caught himself watching her when she wasn’t looking, trying to memorize the shades of red in her hair and the way it fell around her face so he could draw it from memory later.

Every brush of fingers, every time their legs bumped together when they shared a bed, every smile she gave him from across a room that he knew was a smile only for him—it all had to mean _something_. And it did. To him, at the very least. He just hadn’t been brave enough to ask yet if it meant something to her too.

Steve gently unwrapped the ace bandage from around her ribs and started cutting small lines in the fabric around the hole in her suit’s pantleg, so he could help her more easily pull the suit off. Natasha was already unzipping the top half and slowly pushing it off her shoulders.

He was setting the scissors down when Natasha asked, “A little help here.” There was sweat dotting her forehead, and a slight strain in her voice.

Steve helped pull her right arm out of her suit, followed very carefully by her left. They pushed the suit down to her waist, his jaw twitching as she inhaled sharply when they moved the material past her ribs.

“You all right?” he asked, even though the answer seemed pretty obvious.

She gave a shaky nod, and he watched chest fall as she exhaled slowly. He had the urge to reach up and run a thumb over the lines pinching together between her brows.

“Just need a second,” she finally said.

He bent to help take off her boots and socks as she took a few more slow breaths.

“Let me take a look,” Steve said quietly, dipping his head towards the black tank top she was wearing.

Silently, Natasha pulled her tank top up far enough that Steve could inspect her side. On her left, there were already red marks of bruising, starting just under the band of her bra. Steve knew she’d be incredibly sore in the morning. He hoped that the ribs were just badly bruised, or minorly fractured. Anything worse, and they might need an x-ray to make sure she wouldn’t puncture anything internally.

“This is probably gonna hurt,” he said apologetically, looking up at her from under his lashes.

Natasha licked her lips, “It’s fine.”

Gingerly as he could, Steve prodded the injured area, trying to determine if any ribs were fully broken in two. The smallest whimper escaped from Natasha, and he glanced up long enough to watch her bite her lip. The brightness in her eyes, though, there was frustration under the pain.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she swore as she let go of the breath she’d been holding, and Steve felt his lips twitch.

He knew how much she hated feeling like this—helpless. He was the same way. They all were, really. They’d dedicated themselves to helping other people, to being that first line of defense. Steve had the advantage of the serum and its healing abilities. But for Nat and Sam, this was a reminder to him that an injury like this would take weeks to heal. And they couldn’t just kick up their feet in the meantime. They had to keep moving, to stay off Ross’ radar, and so they could continue helping people.

Steve withdrew his hand from her side, helping her pull her tank top back down over her torso. “I don’t think the ribs are broken-broken. For sure bruised, possibly fractured. We’ll just have to keep an eye on it, make sure it doesn’t get any worse. I’ll get you an icepack for it once this bullet is out of your leg.”

“Thanks, Doctor Rogers,” Natasha quipped.

Steve chuckled lowly. He stood then, holding out his hands for her to grab. The warmth of her skin seeped into his hands as she held on and he helped her stand. Steve was helping Natasha push her suit down her waist when Sam walked out of the bathroom, bare-chested, wearing sweatpants and carrying a fresh shirt in his hands.

“Uh, should I just go back in the bathroom or something?” Sam asked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “I mean if now’s a bad time—”

“ _Sam_ ,” they said at the same time.

Sam held his hands up innocently, trying not to laugh. “Sorry, sorry. Just kidding. You two are no fun, I hope you know that.”

They were careful pulling the suit away from the entry wound in her leg. Natasha steadied her hands against Steve’s shoulders as he helped her step out of her suit fully.

“I’ll grab a couple more towels,” Sam said as Natasha say back down in the chair, and Steve grabbed the damp washcloth to help clean some of the blood off her thigh.

“I think we should’ve started a tally,” Natasha said lightly, “see how many times we’ve gotten shot or have broken bones or gotten kicked in the face. Or maybe a tally of all the hotel towels we’ve stolen because we bloody them up so much.”

Steve gave her half a smile. “I don’t think we’ve done too bad so far, actually. It just seems like when we _do_ get injured it ends up being pretty bad.”

“Yeah, except Sam and I don’t have super soldier serum in our blood, so it hurts a lot more for us.”

Steve’s brows pulled together, eyes trained on the damp, and now red-stained washcloth in his right hand. “I know.”

“Hey.” Natasha touched his other hand, where it was resting against her opposite knee. He didn’t even really remember putting it there, but they were so familiar with being in each other’s space, with exchanging casual touches, that it just came naturally at this point. “I know that guilty look, Steve. This is not your fault.”

Steve sighed through his sore nose, forcing his shoulders to relax after they’d suddenly tensed up. “You’re right. It’s just—”

“Habit to carry the whole world on your shoulders?”

Steve met Natasha’s eyes. One corner of her mouth was curved up in that knowing smile of hers. And despite the exhaustion visible in her body and the slight sheen of sweat on her skin, there was a brightness to her eyes. _She’s beautiful_ , he thought briefly.

It was something he’d been thinking quite often lately—how stunning she was. But he never let the thoughts linger. He considered telling her how he felt, but it never seemed like the right time. And he wasn’t confident in labeling what he felt either, which was part of the problem. They were friends and she was his partner, but the pull of her…it was like gravity. He couldn’t help but be drawn to her. It was terrifying and inevitable all at once.

“Earth to Steve,” Natasha’s teasing voice pulled him back, pulled him in.

He gave a little shake of his head, “Sorry. But yeah, you’re right.”

Her eyes scanned his face, and she looked like she might have said more, but then Sam was stepping up next to Steve. Steve took the extra towels Sam handed him, as well as the tweezers and other supplies from their med kit.

Steve set down the little metal bowl they kept in their kit and rinsed his hands with rubbing alcohol over the dish.

“Thought this might help too,” Sam said. Steve looked up and watched as Sam leaned over and handed Natasha a tiny bottle of vodka. Steve grinned, watching recognition cross over Natasha’s face before she broke out into a laugh.

“Since when do we keep mini alcohol in our first aid kit?” She asked, unscrewing the cap.

Sam gave her a smile. “Since you broke two fingers a couple months ago and were _bemoaning_ the fact that we didn’t have any alcohol on hand when Steve had to set the bones.”

Nat’s brows shot up. “Bemoaning? Really? That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think,”

“You don’t pout, remember?” Sam pointed out as he stepped over to her left side with a couple of towels. “Needed a different adjective.”

Steve watched as Nat narrowed her eyes at Sam, fighting off a broad smile. “Well,” she said finally, lifting the tiny bottle up in salute, “I think it’s a great essential addition to our kit.”

“You’re gonna need it too,” Steve said, not giving her a chance to think about it before pouring rubbing alcohol over her bullet wound.

Natasha cursed—quite colorfully—in Russian, as Sam wiped up the excess that spilled over. Steve took one of the clean towels and wiped up around the wound again. Nat just downed the shot of vodka while Steve grabbed the tweezers and one of the other little metal dishes that Sam had brought out.

“You ready?” Steve asked her.

“Oh, now you ask?” she said sharply.

He just looked at her, waiting.

After a beat, Natasha rolled her eyes and held out her left hand. Sam took it in one of his. Steve figured that was answer enough. He reached up and squeezed her opposite knee one more time. Sam turned on his phone flashlight and held it over the wound so Steve could see better. Then, Steve set in with the tweezers.

Luckily, Steve found the bullet pretty quickly.

There was still quite a bit of Russian swearing on Natasha’s part as she gripped Sam’s hand. After dropping the bullet in the dish and rinsing it off with alcohol, Steve stitched up the wound as neatly and efficiently as he could.

There was more sweat on Natasha’s face, her skin a little bit paler. And though she had been through much worse than this—and would also never admit how much pain she was in—Steve knew she was exhausted and hurting.

The fact that she couldn’t breathe the best with her busted ribs didn’t help much either.

“All done,” Steve said finally, snipping the excess thread off.

Nat’s eyes were closed. She exhaled and let go of Sam’s hand. Steve saw his friend quietly shake the limb out, but he didn’t say anything. Despite all their teasing jabs, Steve knew just how much Sam cared about Natasha. So seeing her hurt was hard on both him and Sam.

“Thanks,” Natasha said quietly.

“‘Course,” Steve murmured, grabbing her right hand.

She wrapped her fingers around his, and he stroked his thumb briefly across her knuckles before standing and helping her up with him.

“You can shower now,” he told her. “I’ll bandage everything up when you’re done.”

Pulling her hand from his, Natasha gave him a soft smile. “Aye aye, Captain.”

He huffed out a little laugh and placed a steadying hand against her back as she stepped away from the chairs and around their mess of supplies on the floor. “Need help getting in the shower?”

The look she cast over her shoulder at him told him that she had a particularly devilish remark sitting on her tongue. Most likely about him offering to see her strip down again. But he saw the exhaustion take over, and she just waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine. I’ll sit down in the shower if I need to. Just—if it gets to be like an hour, come fish me out, because that means I either fell asleep or probably can’t get up on my own.”

Steve nodded with a smile. “Will do.”

He moved past her into the bathroom for a moment so he could wash her blood off his hands. When he stepped back out into the main room, Sam was handing Nat her toiletry bag and clean clothes as she limped to the bathroom. As soon as the door was shut, Sam was turning to him, giving him a look.

“What?” Steve asked. He felt like he’d been getting this look a lot lately.

Sam just stared at him for a beat longer, before rolling his eyes and shaking his head. It was a very Natasha thing to do, and Steve was starting to think that Sam actually _was_ picking the habit up from her. “Nothing.”

“If I keep nagging will you tell me?” Steve asked.

Sam made a show of considering before he replied, “Nah. I think I’ll just let you stew on it.”

Not bothering to push, Steve gestured to Sam’s arm and side where the bullet grazes he’d suffered still needed bandages. “Want some help with that?”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam cleaned up the used towels before occupying the same chair Natasha had been in.

“The one on your side looks fine,” Steve noted as he took one of their remaining clean washcloths and sanitized the wound. “The one on your arm might need stitches, though.”

“It’s fine,” Sam said. “Do what you gotta go. I’ve got one or two more of those little vodkas.”

Steve just smiled and rifled around in the bag until he found one of said bottles and tossed it to Sam. “You know we can buy a full size bottle of alcohol, right?”

Sam gave him a toothy smile. “Yeah, but these are more portable.”

Steve chuckled and then set to work. Sam started humming, a little off key at times—a somewhat strange habit he had whenever he was in pain, like it helped take his mind off things. Between that and the methodical work of cleaning and bandaging wounds, Steve’s mind drifted.

And like always, his thoughts drifted to Natasha.

It scared him a little sometimes, how much he thought about her. He spent every day with her, and still she stole her way into his thoughts, even if he was standing right her. Though he played dumb, he knew this was the reason for all of Sam’s exasperated, knowing, frustrated looks. Steve knew his friend just wanted him to be happy, knew that Sam knew how he felt about Natasha. Still, every time the moment came to push himself, to cross that line they’d so carefully drawn, he couldn’t seem to take the plunge.

He put a bandage over the wound on Sam’s side and was almost done stitching together the deep graze on his arm when he said quietly, “I don’t know how to tell her how I feel.”

Sam was silent for a moment, and when Steve looked up, there was sympathy in his friend’s eyes. “You just gotta do it, man. There’s not going to be a perfect way to say it, or a perfect time—I know that’s part of what’s holding you back. You’ve hesitated in the past, and I’ve told you before that you should just talk to her.”

He cut the thread on Sam’s stitches, contemplating. Sam was right, of course. They’d had one or two of these conversations before, but every time Steve found an excuse to not follow through on Sam’s advice. Last time had been Hong Kong in December. Natasha had been so angry with him for the stunt he’d pulled—but there had been a lot of fear there, too. For both of them. Steve didn’t want to think about ever losing her, and if they took that leap, what would change?

“You’re overthinking it again,” Sam teased lightly as Steve wrapped gauze around his arm.

“I know.” Steve exhaled slowly through his bruised and sore nose. “I know I need to get out of my head and just go for it like you say. It’s just—saying how I feel has always been a little easier said than done for me.”

“Despite all of your impressive, rousing speeches, I would agree you’re more a man of action,” Sam said. There was a glint in his eyes and he gave Steve a crooked smile. “So, being a man of action, maybe you just need to _show_ her how you feel. If ya know what I mean.”

Steve blinked. His brow furrowed. “I can’t just go up and kiss her.”

He watched Sam physically hold back a sigh. His friend rolled his eyes. “Well, of course not, consent is important—”

“I know _that_ , Sam. Obviously I’d ask her, I mean—”

“Exactly! You can _ask_ to kiss her, and maybe that will be a little easier than saying all the reasons _why_ you want to kiss her. Not that it’s gone the best for the last two people you’ve kissed—”

“Three, actually.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to give him a quizzical look. “What?”

“The most recent people I’ve kissed—there’s been three of them.”

Sam lifted a hand and started counting on his fingers. “You’ve told me about Peggy and I watched you kiss Sharon. So, who’s this third mystery person that I don’t know about? Is it Bucky? Because that wouldn’t really surprise me, but would also fall under the _didn’t go very well_ column I think—”

Steve waved a hand, laughing. “No, no, it’s not Bucky. I’ve kissed Natasha before.”

“You—” Sam cut off. He blinked a couple of times, processing. “Jesus fucking Christ. Okay, wait. You’re telling me that you two have _already kissed_? When?”

Steve blew out a breath, listening for a moment to make sure the shower was still running. “I mean, sort of. It wasn’t a real kiss. We were undercover. So, I have kissed her, but it was so we wouldn’t get caught by Hydra—well, the STRIKE team more specifically. Back in D.C.”

Sam leaned back in the chair, holding his left arm up gently. Steve had almost forgotten that the limb had been dislocated earlier.

“Okay, maybe not totally genuine kiss aside,” Sam said, “you have _technically_ kissed before. So, what’s so hard about kissing her again?”

Steve’s heart seemed to expand in his chest at that question. He didn’t really count his kiss with Natasha on that escalator, even though he did think about it sometimes. But the thought of getting to kiss her for real…of being close enough to her to feel the softness of her lips again, being close enough to share her breath and feel her warmth, it overwhelmed him.

He felt his ears burn as he dug his elbows into his knees and looked at Sam. “It’s hard because I _want_ it to be real this time.”

Sam’s gaze was soft as he looked at him for a moment. Then his friend rubbed a hand down the side of his face, “Shit.” A beat. “Yeah. Look, I still think you just need to go for it, but I also believe that if you’re not ready, don’t force it. Just know that when you eventually get your shit together, I’ll be here.”

Steve gave Sam a grateful smile. “Thanks.” He looked down at his hands, with more blood on them from patching up Sam’s wounds. “She means a lot to me and…I don’t want to screw it up.”

“Hey, I get it, man,” Sam said, and Steve knew he meant it. But then just as quick, his tone turned teasing again, “Another thing, when you do decide to kiss her good and proper, just make sure I’m not in the room. That’s my only request. Given all the— _tension_ …I do not want to be present when it’s let out. ‘Kay?”

“Yeah, all right,” Steve laughed. “I’ll try to give you fair warning.”

He pulled over the first aid kit and started looking for a couple of ice packs. He found two more mini vodkas but no ice packs. He wasn’t sure if the hostel owner had ice readily available, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to the owner again anyway, not with his face still looking beat to hell.

He took one of the less used damp washcloths and wiped the remains of any blood off his hands before standing. “I gotta head back to the jet quick.”

“What for?”

“We’re out of ice packs. You and Nat both need ‘em.”

Sam stood then, too. “I’ll go. And before you decide to argue with me, you still look like a hot mess. I’ve showered, my shoulder’s a little sore, but I’m fine. Nat should be done soon and this way you can finish helping her out.”

“I—okay.” Steve stopped reaching for his jacket because Sam was already grabbing his own jacket and shoes.

He watched Sam slip a pistol into the inner pocket of his jacket then grab his phone. Sam cast him one last look as he headed for the door. “ _Tension_ ,” Sam said, waving a finger between Steve and the bathroom door. Then, before Steve good get in a word to protest, Sam left with a grin on his face.

Steve busied himself with cleaning up and organizing their med supplies. Five minutes later, Natasha was stepping out of the bathroom, wearing a tee that was too big for her. Steve recognized it as one of his own—one of the shirts that she so adamantly, and teasingly, denied about having stolen from his bag. She was carrying her sleep shorts in hand, hair wrapped up in the towel atop her head. She was still limping, pain evident in the lines of her body, but he could also tell she was feeling better now that she was clean.

She scanned the room. “Where’s Sam?”

“He went back to the jet quick. We’re out of ice packs.”

Natasha bobbed her head in acknowledgement. She settled back into the same chair as before, and Steve took up the seat across from her again, gauze and other supplies in hand.

As he gently started re-cleaning and wrapping the wound on her leg, he saw Natasha tilt her head at him out of the corner of his eye. “You look a little red,” she finally noted, taunting lilt to her voice. “What’d you and Sam talk about while I was in there?”

Steve felt one corner of his mouth draw up. She was always so observant. And though he was already giving a little shake of his head in denial, he could feel the tips of his ears start to burn again. “Nothing.” 

She started untwisting the towel off the top of her head, damp hair falling to one side. “Mmhmm. Whatever you say, Rogers.”

He lifted his head and arched a brow at her. “I never ask about what you and Wanda talk about when it’s just the two of you. Same thing applies here.”

“Fair enough. It’s guy talk—I get it.” There was still a playful edge to her words, but enough seriousness that he knew she would drop it.

He finished wrapping her leg and applied a few butterfly bandages to the cut on her head.

“You need help patching anything up?” Natasha asked as he stood and started packing away the supplies they wouldn’t need anymore that night.

“No, I think I’m okay. Mostly just my face that needs cleaning up, and I can do that in the shower.” Steve looked up at her again.

She was totally relaxed—he could see it in the way she was sunken into the chair like she hadn’t been before. Her eyes were gazing around the room, fingers absently combing through the ends of her damp hair.

For a moment, he was transfixed. It was mundane moments like this that made him think of that year after Sokovia, the year they’d spent leading the Avengers. They’d gained a sense of domesticity then that he never thought he’d have again after waking up from the ice. He felt completely grounded in the utter _realness_ of this moment, of her.

He didn’t realize how caught up he’d been until Natasha was waving a hand in front of him, bemused smile on her face. “You’re staring again.” The fondness in her voice made him wonder, briefly, if she knew that he’d been thinking about her. “You sure you don’t maybe have a concussion too?”

“I spaced out again—sorry.”

“You feeling all right?”

“I’m fine, Nat. Really,” he assured. “Probably just need to sleep it off.”

She gave a half-hearted roll of her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah, at least you _get_ to sleep it off. I’m gonna have a bum leg and bad ribs for at least four weeks.”

He grinned, tapping her good leg. “Perks of signing up to be the guinea pig for a previously untested super soldier serum in the forties.”

She swatted at his hand, but he was already pulling away, dancing away from her chair. As she grumbled another comment about his quick healing and her lack thereof, Steve finally looked around the room himself. Specifically, at the beds.

They’d stayed in some pretty shitty places in the past several months—not that this hostel was particularly grimy or shady. But it certainly was one of the smaller places they’d stayed. And the beds were definitely the smallest ones they’d had so far, twin sized mattresses at most.

Sam had set his bag down by the farthest bed, with Steve and Natasha’s stuff next to the one closest to the door. They had agreed a long time ago that Steve would always be in the bed closest to the door. Sam and Nat both had incredibly quick reflexes, and were habitually attuned to their surroundings, even when they were all relaxed. But Steve had the enhanced hearing, the enhanced reflexes, and if anyone came busting through the door, he’d be right there waiting for them.

“Speaking of sleeping things off,” he said to Natasha, somewhat absently as he finished tidying up. “The beds are awfully small this time around. You’re hurt, and I—”

“Don’t even say it,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. She gave him a look to match the tone of her voice that told him this wasn’t up for debate. “You’re not sleeping on the floor. I don’t care if you’ll be half healed tomorrow—you still took a beating today, and you need to sleep in an actual bed.”

He didn’t want to argue, because he knew she was right. It was also normal for him and Natasha at this point. They slept in the same bed together, had been doing it for years on and off. But now it was a permanent thing, and he knew they both slept better because of it.

Still, she was hurt and sleeping in one position all night would just make her sorer in the morning. “Nat—”

“ _Steve_.” The insistent edge to her tone—that was the voice of his fellow commanding Avenger. His friends teased him about using his _Captain America voice_ , but Natasha had a similar tone. It was one that he hadn’t heard in a while, and he found himself compelled to obey. “If you keep arguing about this, I’ll sleep on the floor just to prove a point.”

Well, shit. She’d won their barely-there-argument, and she knew it, too. Because Nat was just as stubborn as he was, and he knew she would follow through on that threat.

“Fine,” he relented.

“Good.”

Steve held her stare a moment longer, before reaching for his bag to grab a clean set of clothes. “I’m gonna shower. Sam should be back shortly.”

Natasha waved a hand dismissively, pulling herself up from the chair she was in to move over to the bed they’d be sharing. “Yeah, yeah. Stop being such a mother hen.” She was pulling out her phone, eyes cast down as she started scrolling. “Shower, I’m gonna call Sam and tell him to pick up some food, too. I’m starving, so he better have brought his wallet.”

Steve chuckled, and finished undressing what he could before heading into the bathroom and blasting whatever hot water was left.

-:-

Natasha was grateful when Sam came back with both ice packs and food.

They ate mostly in silence, all three of them far hungrier than they’d thought, as it had been hours since they’d eaten.

By the time they finished eating and organizing all their belongings—a nightly routine they had to make sure everything was ready to go on a moment’s notice—it was close to 11. It wasn’t that late considering, but it had been a hell of a day. And they’d gotten up early that morning to start.

Natasha brushed her teeth last, flipping the bathroom light off and stepping out into the main room. Sam had laid down in bed maybe 15 minutes before, but she could already hear him snoring softly. She envied how quickly and easily he seemed to be able to fall asleep.

Steve was laying down in the other bed, taking up the side that was closest to the door. His face was relaxed, body at ease as he stared at the ceiling, waiting for her. He was cleaned up now, and she could see the shallow scrapes and cuts across his face and neck, hand and arms. There were bruises across his nose and under his eyes, but Natasha knew that in the next day or two they would be almost completely gone.

He had a hand behind his head, and for a moment, Natasha found herself staring at the muscles of his arm, eyes tracing down his torso. He was wearing a t-shirt, and probably light sleep pants that she couldn’t see beneath the covers, but she’d seen him without a shirt enough times that it wasn’t hard to imagine what he looked like under the layers of clothes.

 _Cool it, Romanoff_ , she scolded herself silently. Now was not the time. But more and more, she seemed unable to stop thoughts like this from crossing her mind.

She could feel Steve’s eyes track her as she stepped over next to the bed and plugged her phone in, setting it on the nightstand that sat between the two beds. The small bed creaked as Steve shifted onto his side, making room for her to crawl in. She did, back to him as she settled onto her uninjured right side. Her ribs still ached, though. Having the ice pack on them for a while had helped, but she’d dealt with this kind of injury before, and knew that the first week was going to be a bitch.

“You okay?” Steve whispered, most likely having felt her wince as she settled in.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She reached over and switched the lamp on the nightstand off, plunging the room into darkness.

Natasha let her eyes adjust to the dark. There was a small window on the wall near Sam’s bed, but they’d kept the curtains drawn, so only a small sliver of light was getting in. She tried to ignore the throbbing pain in her leg and ribs so she could get more comfortable. But it would’ve been a hell of a lot easier to do that if Steve wasn’t so stiff behind her. He was touching her—it was impossible for him not to be given the size of the bed—but he wasn’t relaxed.

It was ridiculous, really—they’d gotten plenty comfortable and close to each other in beds bigger than this. But he hadn’t even put his arms around her, which was driving her a little crazy. And maybe that wasn’t something she should have been thinking about, but they’d done it before, whether it was his arms around her, and hers around him.

Just last month they’d been in São Paulo, and he’d instantly soothed under her touch when she’d wrapped around him after waking him from a bad dream. But now, all the sudden because the bed was smaller, she knew he was overthinking everything.

“Steve,” she finally said, voice a hushed whisper in the blackness of the room.

There was a beat. Then, “Yeah?”

“Please relax.”

“Sorry,” he sighed softly. She felt him shift and try to get more comfortable.

“You know you can put your arms around me, right?” she teased. “It’s called spooning. We’ve done it before, and it’s great for situations like these.”

There was a quiet chuckle, the sound rumbling from his chest. “I know what it is. I just—I don’t want to hurt you.”

Natasha nearly twisted around in bed to look at him, but her ribs were starting to feel okay at the moment, so she stayed put. “Oh, please. You won’t hurt me. But I can tell you’re uncomfortable, so you may start hurting my feelings if you don’t put your arms around me right now.”

He was silent for a few seconds, and for a moment Natasha wondered if she’d gone too far. Whatever they had—this partnership, friendship—she never wanted to lose that. There was a part of her that feared she would if she voiced the thoughts in her head, if she started to put words to the feelings in her heart, even if she wasn’t wholly certain as to what those feelings were.

Steve still hadn’t moved, and her cheeks started heating up, making her glad for the dark. They could flirt for days on end, but neither of them had made a move to take it further than that. If he rejected this—this small gesture that wasn’t foreign to either of them in the slightest, what would he do if she told him how she felt, and he didn’t feel the same?

Doubt started to creep in full, twisting its way through her limbs. Just as she was starting to feel her skin crawl with uncertainty, Steve finally relented and put his arms around her, shifting them both into a more comfortable position. Natasha’s heart stumbled in her chest, and she blamed the way her breath caught on her busted ribs.

Steve’s hold on her was gentle around her ribs, his other arm under her, supporting her. Their legs slid together beneath the blankets. Natasha could feel pressure in her chest as she thought about how _perfectly_ they fit together.

Like their bodies were designed to work together as one unit, one being. She wasn’t sure if she believed in destiny or fate, and she definitely tried not to consider any of those possibilities in regards to Steve and her. But maybe…maybe it felt like he was meant to fall through decades of time to be here in the present with her.

But that was an incredibly dangerous line of thinking—especially when it was about someone she was pretty sure she just wanted to keep as just a friend. Maybe something more one day. _Maybe_. But not tonight.

So, she did what she had always done, and moved into familiar territory. Natasha felt the corners of her mouth pull up as she echoed something she’d asked him over two years ago now, “You still uncomfortable?”

This time Natasha could feel his chest quake against her back as he laughed quietly. Even though he couldn’t see it, Natasha smiled broadly.

In favor of keeping the memory of that stolen undercover kiss alive, the smile was evident in his voice as Steve whispered, “Not exactly the word I would use.”

**Author's Note:**

> For any of you wondering (if there are any wondering at all) what these little hints about Hong Kong were in this story - no you did not miss anything. Like I mentioned before, I do have some ideas for other one-shots, and so I have the rough outline of a one-shot set in Hong Kong. (Again, no promises as to when I will get to it, but hopefully it will be soon!)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope everyone is staying healthy and safe no matter where you are, and don't forget to wash ya hands!


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